Harry Potter and the Eyes of Truth
by Maudlin
Summary: Summer with the Dursleys was usually uneventful, that is until the Grants moved in next door. The two 'muggle' daughters send Harry for a loop as he discovers there is much more to the muggle and wizarding worlds than he had ever imagined.
1. Slow Begninnings

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**Harry Potter and the Eyes of Truth**

_Written by: Maudlin_

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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to J.K. Rowling. I have merely stolen them, locked them in my mind, and am controlling their every move.**

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**Chapter One**

_Slow Beginnings_

The last few days of spring lingers in the air and brings with it the last few days of decent weather before the sweltering heat would plague Little Whinging as it had for many summers before. Little Whinging had become infamous over the past sixteen years as a place of odd happenings, a place where the unexpected was bound to occur. Several residents had complained of numerous owl sightings in the middle of the day, flying vehicles, and other unexplainable, if not unbelievable, events. These events were taken as jests, mere jokes told by the immaculate persons living in Little Whinging. Neighborhood patrollers assured residents that harmless pranksters were trying to liven up the monotony of their lives by spreading lies. So, for the most part, Little Whinging ignored these strange dealings and carried on their neat, dull little lives in Little Whinging, Surrey.

Unbeknownst to this blinded populace, an even larger predicament was unfolding beneath their very noses and this was surely no jest. Hidden in the belly of Little Whinging lies Privet Drive and within Privet Drive there lies Number Four Privet Drive. This is the home of the Dursley's. A large, two-floored, square house with a low garden wall out front and a perfect backyard with bright flowerbeds, a flourishing green house, and one, wooden bench towards the center of the fenced-in area. It is on this bench where the source of Little Whinging's problems sits twiddling a long and narrow stick between his fingers. The source is none other than a young boy named Harry Potter.

Harry Potter is a thin, wiry boy with straggly russet hair that fell dominantly into his face, covering a dark scar shaped like a bolt of lightening. A pair of wire-framed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose and hid his extravagant emerald green eyes. Harry was dressed in an outfit, handed down by his rather obese cousin, which made him look like an unhealthy lad who is currently fasting for some unknown cause. In his hand, what might appear as a stick to most passerbies is actually a wand. It is an eleven inch wand crafted from the finest holly wood with a single phoenix feather housed inside its shell. Harry Potter is a wizard and not only is he a talented wizard but he also carries with him the birth of a legacy, a very dangerous legacy that would soon threaten the lives of thousands of innocents. But, for now, young Harry was too preoccupied, too distracted, by the bustling of the new neighbors moving in next door to worry too much about an uncertain futuristic doom.

Harry watched as several movers walked back and forth, back and forth, along the side of the house carrying large boxes on their shoulders. The movers randomly shouted out commands to each other, sometimes little warnings about fragile boxes falling to the ground. For three hours the movers scurried about in the neighbor's yard and Harry was beyond boredom, but he remained sitting patiently, as if waiting for something.

That something came in the form of a someone. At first, all that Harry saw was a fuzzy mass of brown hair bobbing over the top of the tall, wooden fence but after a few moments of rustling on the neighbor's side, a pair of childish hands appeared at the top of the fence and was soon followed by a round face peering over the edge. She was a young girl, around ten or eleven, with wispy strands of brown hair blanketing her head in a terrible mess. Her face was covered in a disarray of freckles all the way from her forehead to her chin due to the spring's sun. Her blue eyes stared at Harry, observing him from afar.

"Excuse me, neighbor, but, um, are you called Dudley Dursley? I've heard the ladies next door to me talking about a fat boy named Dudley Dursley who lives right where you live. But you don't look fat, Dudley. You're actually very, very skinny," the little girl blabbered on before, at last, pausing to wait for Harry's answer.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself as he pushed his body up and off of the bench and leisurely strolled over to the fence, placing his wand in his back pocket. About halfway there, he finally answered her, "No. Dudley is my cousin. I'm Harry Potter."

The girl giggled almost to the brink of insanity, before rambling, "My name is Elizabeth Grant. We just moved here from America a couple of weeks ago. When I say _we_ I mean my Papa, my sister, and me. London is a very interesting place, you know. You Englishmen say the strangest things. Just yesterday, some old lady at the store told me to stop _badgering _my Papa. Just what does badgering mean? In America a badger is an animal and it just doesn't make any sense to be _badgering_ someone. Anyway, thank goodness that you're not Dudley."

Harry rapidly blinked, trying to keep up with Elizabeth's ramblings and he found it quite hard to do so. Not only did she talk a lot, she also spoke rather quickly. He grimaced, finally picking up on the last of her babble and he became rather repulsed at the prospect of actually being Dudley, "Why?"

"Why?" Elizabeth frowned and then perked up, chuckling, "Oh, you mean why I'm happy you aren't Dudley? It's simple of course! It's only natural for a girl to want to have a cute, tall, lean boy living next door. If your fat cousin was the only boy to live there, I would surely be depressed. I absolutely adore pretty boys."

"Um," Harry grumbled, not too sure if he should blush, laugh, or die from embarrassment. He decided on shakily laughing and scratching the back of his neck with his hand.

For a change, Elizabeth fell silent and, instead, stared dreamily at Harry, her blue eyes watching him in a daze. This, of course, made Harry rather uncomfortable and caused him to shift about nervously. After a brief moment, a loud thud sounded from the girl's house and the two looked up to see a feminine face peering out from a second-floor window. The girl leaned out the window and motioned towards Elizabeth, "Hey, kiddo, Papa wants you to come in for dinner," then, as she just noticed Harry she smiles and waves at him before slipping back inside and shutting the window.

Elizabeth turned back to Harry and said, "That was my sister, Emma. She's fifteen, you know. That's about how old you are. If you marry her then you'll be my brother—or maybe you should just marry me!" She sighs happily. "My dinner awaits! Bye Harry!"

"Bye Elizabeth," Harry replied in a questioning, mandatory manner, staring after her in a confused state. Almost at that exact moment, the infamous Dudley stumbled throw the back door and ordered Harry into the house for dinner or else he would have to wait until breakfast to eat. Harry took one last look at his neighbor's house before clambering to get towards the dinner table before the Dursley's devoured his meal.

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"I hear that Mister Grant is a substitute teacher at Little Whinging Primary School," the long-necked, crow-faced Petunia Dursley gossiped after a bite of cawl. "Presumably, his wife died eleven years ago and left him to raise two daughters all on his own, the poor sod."

Vernon lifted his pudgy head from where it was busily spooning food into his large mouth at a very close range of the table. His beady little eyes looked over at his wife as he snipped harshly, "He should have stayed far from Little Whinging. I don't need any loud girls interrupting the peace. There's already enough trouble in this neighborhood as it is," Vernon hinted at Harry with obvious annoyance.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Vernon, dear," Petunia automatically answered without batting an eye.

Dudley grinned, "Are they pretty mum?" Harry rolled his eyes at the idiocy of his cousin, but was quick to regain a straight composure. There was no reason to start a fight in the middle of a peaceful meal.

"I don't know Sweetums, I haven't met them yet," she smiled. Petunia hesitated and then added, "Perhaps we should invite them over for a meal tomorrow. A little neighborly bonding could do us some good."

Vernan's face swelled purple as he protested rather loudly, "Invite over that bit of a knob? Petunia we can't just go around inviting strangers into our home." His eyebrows drew close together as he added, whispering, "What if they are connected to that Dark Lord bloke." He quickly looked towards every window, as if expecting to see a face peering in through the glass. Harry noticed this and couldn't help but to scoff at his paranoid uncle in silent humor.

Petunia shifted unnervingly in her seat and broke the eye connection with her husband and looked down at her dissipating meal. A wave of uncertainty washed over her and Vernon and Dudley gaped at her in confusion. Only Harry partly understood what his aunt felt. They were both connected to the wizarding world—whether it is willing or unwilling that they are joined and both of them felt the danger that only Harry had come face to face with on many occasions. But her uncertainty lasted for only a moment before her characteristic indifference to the wizarding world kicked in and she, figuratively, stuck her nose up to the idea and grumbled distastefully, "Don't be preposterous, Vernon. The ladies have informed me that Henry Grant is as normal as they come. I'll invite him and his daughters over for lunch tomorrow."

Vernon huffed, but didn't bring it up again, and returned to what remained of his supper. The porky Dudley, on the other hand, sought fit to bring up the manner of the daughters' appearance and asked his mum repeatedly how they looked. Petunia tried her hardest to retain her patience, while Harry tried his hardest to retain his laughter. After a few minutes, a spark lit up in Dudley's miniscule mind and he turned to Harry, "Harry was talking to someone when I told him to come in. Weren't you Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to talk, but his uncle decided to speak for him, "Why would anybody talk to Harry? You must have been seeing things, Dudders."

"No. I'm sure Harry was talking to someone," Dudley persisted, looking and directing his recurring question at Harry, "Was she pretty, Harry?"

He looked on amused and answered with a completely straight and serious face, "Elizabeth, that was her name you know, was quite the looker. She also seemed to fancy you, Dudley. Spoke a lot about you, she did." Despite his uninterested countenance, Harry was busting a gasket inside as his laughter was boiling up in his stomach.

Dudley's grin reached from one porky cheek to the other as he accepted this as a compliment and his raging teenage hormones started putting together a half-witted plan that would inevitably collapse in ruin. Neither his mum nor dad seemed to think anything of his mischievous smirk or random spurts of slurred sentences mouthed aloud to himself. On the other hand, they congratulated him for his _achievement_. His dad patted him on the back and praised him saying how he inherited his father's charm and his mum's good looks. This of course, made if even harder for Harry to hold in his laughter. He quickly excused himself, ignored the commands from his aunt and uncle to clean the table, and ran up to his room. Once there, he finally gave into his mirth and laughed until tears rolled down his face.

He sat up in the stiff bed and looked about his room, observing his magical possessions with longing to use them. Scattered around his room were his trunk, his owl's cage, his broom, and a carefully placed two-way mirror on his bedside table. His eyes lingered the longest on the small item and his happiness drained from his face. Harry's green eyes darkened and filled with fathomless sadness as real tears toyed at the corner of his eyes. He hugged himself and blinked rapidly, pushing back the tears. A fluttering of wings brought his attention to his roosting snowy owl watching him with concern. Hedwig hopped over from her perch on the windowsill and settled down on his knee. She affectionately nipped Harry's finger and lifted her leg slightly, presenting him with a small piece of parcel. Wiping away his tears, Harry patted Hedwig's head and gently untied the parcel from her leg. The owl drifted off to rest in her wire cage until she was sent off by her master.

He unrolled the parcel and shakily smiled at the scratchy handwriting inside.

_Harry, _

_How are the muggles treating you? If they get too annoying you could always come to the Burrow. Mum says it's better for you to stay with the muggles, but I don't agree with her. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes made front page on the Daily Prophet yesterday. It had something to do with the year's greatest practical jokester inventions. Fred and George won an award along with fifteen hundred galleons! They tried to give half of it to mum, but she wouldn't let them. She told them that they earned it fair and square. I think mum has gotten used to the idea of her sons owning a prank shop. Hermione and I were thinking about getting together in Diagon Alley for your birthday? What do you think Harry? Hedwig has been badgering me for three days to send you a letter. Do you have her trained or what? Not that I wasn't going to send you a letter, Harry. Pig's been feeling a little sick today so I had to borrow Hedwig, I hope you don't mind. I think it was the chocolate frog he stole from me this morning. The barmy…_

_--Ron_

_P.S. Mum thinks she might be pregnant. She and dad will be going to the hospital tomorrow. I'll send you Pig with the news._

Harry couldn't help but to chuckle lightly and look over at his owl, who was currently pruning her long, white feathers. His gaze instinctively fell on the closed door of his room as he listened to the rustling downstairs. When he decided that none of the Dursleys' were going to barge in on him, he took out a quill and a piece of parchment. Quietly and quickly, he scratched down a reply.

_Ron,_

_The muggles are just fine. They aren't on me as much as they used to be. Diagon Alley sounds like a nice idea, but I'll have to convince the muggles to let me go. It will be hard, with them hating magic and all. They're a lot more uptight about it now than they used to be. That's great, 'bout your mum and all that. If she is, do you want a brother or a sister? _

_--Harry_

He whistled lowly and Hedwig obligingly glided over towards him and stood still as he tied the parcel to her leg. Harry smiled and whispered a quiet "Good girl" before letting her fly off into the dying sunset while he stayed behind contemplating, always contemplating.

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**Author's Note: I apologize if any of the characters seem out of character. This is the first Harry Potter fan fiction that I have ever written, so the characters might be a little shaky for a while. I also apologize if the beginning was really slow. I seem to have that problem whenever I write. Chapter two should be filled with a good bit of comedy as the Grants come over for lunch with the Dursleys'. Chapter two should also be out by the end of the week.**

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	2. Dining with the Dursleys

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**Harry Potter and the Eyes of Truth**

_Written by: Maudlin_

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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to J.K. Rowling. I have merely stolen them, locked them in my mind, and am controlling their every move.**

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**Chapter Two**

_Dinning with the Dursleys_

A constant scratching sound, caused from the rapid movements of a fine tip quill on parchment, resonated throughout the spare bedroom of Dudley Dursley where young Harry was unconcernedly rushing to finish one of his many essays for Potion class. With the rate this essay was progressing, his professor was sure to give him an earful—once again—about responsibility and dedication to the future of his career. It wasn't that Harry did not want to complete his homework; it was just that potions bored Harry beyond an imaginable point. That and the fact that his uncle was busily yelling up the stairwell for Harry to come and cook his lunch. Muggles were such tiresome beings.

_"HARRY POTTER!"_

Harry sighed, gave up, and rolled the unfinished assignment into a tight, neat cylinder, taking his time of course. He took his glasses from his eyes and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger.

_"I GIVE YOU A HOME, FOOD, AND CLOTHES OUT OF THE GOODNESS OF MY HEART AND YOU CAN'T EVEN COOK ONE BLIMEY MEAL! YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN AN UNGRANTFUL ORPHAN!"_

He slipped off his bed and strolled over to his school trunk. He flipped the switch and placed his books, parchment, and quill inside. From the chest, he took his wand and stuck it in his back pocket, hiding it underneath the folds of his hand-me-down cotton shirt.

_"DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE!"_

The adolescent meandered towards the door, in no apparent hurry, and laughing the entire time at his uncle's antics. He had heard the same insults and threats repeatedly for almost sixteen years and they no longer fazed him. Rather, they were merely jokes to him.

_"THAT'S IT! I'M COMING UP YOU UNGRATEFU--"_

The door swung open right as Vernon's hand reached up to knock on the wooden surface. Vernon stood purple-faced, glowering in anger at his nephew who was, in return, glowering at him with as much indifference as Vernon was with purple rage. He took a deep breath and composed himself, inquiring through heaving breaths, "What took you so long, boy?"

"I was planning world domination where the wizarding world would take command of you boring muggles and turn you all into slaves. My first plan of action would be to wipe out you and your entire snobby family," Harry grumbled, off-handedly.

His uncle grunted and responded, ignoring completely what Harry had just said, "Don't give me any of your lip. Petunia and I have been calling you for an hour to prepare lunch. The Grants will be here in less than an hour." He turned at stumbled down the stairs muttering to aloud, "I told her it was a bad idea. A waste of blimey time, if you ask me."

Harry chuckled and dug his hands into his front pockets and closed the door behind him, following after his uncle into the kitchen. He spent a good half hour cooking a simple meal of bangers and mash, upon request of his porky cousin, and boiling quick pot of warm tea. In order to impress the guests, Harry was instructed to set the table with the finest porcelain cutlery and a fresh bouquet of flowers plucked from the very greenhouse in the backyard. Petunia was busying herself with rushing around the kitchen, dining room, and adjoining living room cleaning up every single one of the invisible messes and spraying strong fragrances into the air making everything end up smelling worse than it did beforehand. Vernon was brushing up Dudley's poor etiquette and tightening each other's ties, straightening their hair, and keeping up with the score of the game show on the miniature television in the dining room. The Dursleys were each dressed up in their best dress clothes and were prepared to impress and dazzle the neighbors. While Harry was covered from head to toe in grease after a mishap dealing with Dudley and a jar of week old meat residue from underneath the sink and he was certainly not dressed to impress.

As the doorbell rang throughout the house, Vernon dragged Harry into the hall and proceeded to lecture him. He gruffly growled lowly, "I want you to stay out of sight, boy. Do not make this a repeat of last time or I'll lock all of your _belongings_ in the cupboard. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Harry frowned, wincing at the reminder of his little adventure with a certain house-elf named Dobby. "I promise I'll keep out of sight."

Vernon looked him up and down, wrinkled his nose, quipping, "Go change into something decent. You smell like rotting eggs." He turned and walked to the door. Harry lifted his wrist to his nose and took a large whiff and twitched, making a guttural noise before rushing up to his room to, gladly, change.

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Harry had tried. He had tried very hard to keep himself in his room to avoid seeing his aunt and uncle and to avoid being seen himself, but his stomach was angrily protesting the lack of food inside its cavity. So he had quietly snuck out of his room, avoided the squeaky floorboards along the way, and crept into the kitchen. He kept a watch out of the corner of his eye for any sudden movement at the table. The Dursleys were seemingly enjoying themselves, except that Dudley looked rather down about something, and Harry couldn't tell whether or not the Grants were, seeing as all that he could see was the back of their identical bushy brown heads. Elizabeth was the shortest, talkative one, and Harry could hear her rambling about something that he couldn't quite understand. Then there was a taller girl sitting beside Elizabeth, who he guessed was Emma, and then there was an even taller figure with shorter hair who he figured was their father.

Ignoring them, Harry went about rummaging through the refrigerator, that is, before a bucket of margarine found itself toppling down onto Harry's exposed head. He of course yelped and everyone's attention quickly snapped to stare at the boy with questioning eyes. Vernon and Elizabeth were the first to rise from the table. Vernon jerked at the sight of Elizabeth walking over to the floored Harry.

She reached her hand out, exclaiming, "Howdy Harry! What are you doing sneaking around in the fridge? Shouldn't you be eating at the table with everyone else? I was just telling my Papa about you again. Your aunt told us that you didn't live here, but here you are, sprawled across the floor. Come and eat with us, Harry." Elizabeth flashed a toothy, childish smile waiting for him to get up and/or answer.

Harry stood up on his own and looked up, worriedly at his uncle. Vernon grimaced, but put on a fake smile as he forced a friendly invitation, "I didn't know you were back from probation so soon, Harry. Come one and eat with us, nephew." Harry fumed at the insult from the obese man, but obligingly walked back to the table with Elizabeth and pulled up a chair between the eccentric girl and his cousin.

"Why were you at probation, Harry? You don't strike me as a guy to do something so bad to deserve probation or to even do anything bad at all," Elizabeth innocently asked.

He faltered, looked up at Vernon, and lied, "I…got busted for stealing a pair of tennis shoes." Vernon nodded approvingly, but Elizabeth looked at him excitingly.

"So you're a bad boy?" She fell into another one of her giggly fits.

Everyone at the table stared at her in disbelief, but basically ignored her. After a minute of listening to her laugh, her father cleared his throat, "Eliza, that's quite enough." She calmed down some and shifted into silent tremors instead. Her father leaned in across the table to take a good look at Harry before he smiled and introduced myself, "Hello, Harry. My name's Henry. Eliza here has spent the entirety of the past day talking nonstop about you."

Harry smiled and the two preformed an awkward handshake as Harry joked, "I hope it was all good talk. It's nice to meet you, Henry."

Henry brought back his arm and chuckled, "So, where do you go to school, Harry?"

"St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys," Harry routinely answered without even batting an eye. He looked away from Henry and caught a quick glance of Emma staring at him with curiosity. They momentarily locked eyes—green on hazel.

"That's quite a rough sounding school," she observed.

He nodded, "They beat me at least five times a day with the thickest, longest switch that they can find." All he had to do was keep up the façade and his uncle would not pay much attention to his earlier tumble. Vernon did not look too pleased that the conversation was focused only on Harry, but there was a touch of pleasure of watching Harry constantly insult himself.

"Five times, huh," Emma said. Harry nodded again before Emma said, "If you're such a trouble-maker, why are you living in Little Whining? I would think that the neighbors would be uncomfortable with someone like you living here."

He stared at her, starting to seethe inside, but then he noticed the twinkle in her eye. It was the same twinkle that his favorite headmaster would get whenever he was playing some sort of mysterious trick. Catching on, Harry smirked, "You see, luv, my dear Uncle Vernon was so kind as to not send me away. It's because he loves me so very much, has a big heart he does."

"Well, I wouldn't put up with a dodgy teenager. You're lucky to have such kind people as the Dursleys to open up their home to you," Emma continually sneered, teasing him.

Elizabeth tugged on her sister's arm and whispered, "What does _dodgy_ mean?"

"I guess you could say that it means a sneaky fellow, like Harry here. You just can't trust him," she answered, motioning at the boy, not even trying to lower her voice unlike her sister.

"Then why can't Englishmen just say that? Why do they have to use such funny words?" Elizabeth made a disgusted face, still whispering, "And what do you mean by saying Harry can't be trusted? He's the kindest, pretty, caring boy that I have ever met. Don't you dare say anything disrespectful about my Harry!"

At that time, porky Dudley jumped into the conversation, yelling at Harry with a red face, "Harry you lied about Elizabeth. She doesn't like me! She likes you! She's not that pretty and she's only eleven-years-old." Elizabeth _harrumphed_ and glared at him. Harry couldn't help himself and neither could Emma. The two busted out laughing at the not-so-different expressions of the other two. Elizabeth and Dudley grumbled to themselves and dropped the conversation.

"Harry," Henry broke the silence, "you look like a hard-working boy. What do you think about working for me? I have a lot of boxes that I need unpacking and I could use and extra set of hands. That is, if your aunt and uncle don't mind."

Harry looked over at the aforementioned aunt and uncle. Vernon and Petunia were defeated and everyone knew it; especially the Grants. It would seem rude if Vernon was to turn down the new neighbor and they wanted to do anything but make a bad impression. Vernon smiled with false merriment, "Of course he can. But I warn you, the boy can be rather dull and aggressive at times. He'll put up a fight if he wants to."

Henry shrugged, "I'm sure a ten pound payment each day will keep him in line."

"There's no need to pay him. He needs the discipline," Vernon quickly protested.

"It's no trouble at all. You may call it bribery, but I know that it works very well with kids. You can get them to clean just about anything if you pay them," Henry Grant chuckled contentedly.

"If you think that that's what will keep him in line, I can't protest," Vernon gave in, before quickly adding, "It may even keep him from robbing banks."

"So he robs banks as well?" Henry stated, as if unaffected, "I suppose I'm going to have to break him of that habit." Vernon nodded, profusely sweating. "It's settled then!"

Harry had watched all this and he couldn't help but to look at the neighbor with wonder in his eyes. Why was this man helping him? Harry was immensely confused and, apparently, so was Dudley who had drawn together his bushy eyebrows and asked, "What about me?"

Henry politely apologized, "I'm sorry, but it's a lot of work and I'm afraid that I just don't have enough chocolate to go around." The Dursleys and Harry all gaped at him. No one, other than wizards, had ever forwardly snubbed Dudley to his face.

The rest of the meal went by without much happening, and the Grants left around three bidding good-bye to the Dursleys and a cheerful "see you later" to Harry. Once they had left, Vernon sat Harry down for a long talk that wasted a good portion of the afternoon and repaired Dudley's hurt pride for nothing cheered him up more than watching Harry being reprimanded. Harry paid no attention to either of them, merely nodding or his head when called for. By seven, Harry had been able to weasel out of the living room and escape to his bedroom, locking the door, and leaving the Dursleys to cook their own dinner.

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Harry was once again attempting to complete his Potions' assignment when Hedwig swooped in through his always-open window. She came to rest on Harry's ready arm with two letters strapped to her leg.

The first one he read from was Ron and was rather short compared to the letter he had received the night before. It read:

_Harry,_

_Mum is pregnant. She and my dad are happy, but I'm not. I don't need any more brothers or sisters. I guess I'd want a brother, though. So I could pick on him like all my bloody brothers did to me._

_Sorry about the ruddy muggles._

_--Ron_

The second letter was in much neater handwriting that Harry immediately recognized as Hermione's. Harry looked at Hedwig and asked her, "Did you fly all the way to Hermione's, too?" She cooed, preening her feathers, and ignoring him. He shrugged her off and quickly read the note.

_Dear Harry,_

_Hedwig came knocking on my window at six in the morning and wouldn't leave until I wrote you a letter. She's a good owl. She just wants to make sure that you get letters from your friends. I feel just horrible that I haven't written you yet. We've been out of school for a week and I haven't yet lifted a quill for anything other than homework. I should write you without having an owl force me to. I'm sorry Harry. In other news, have you heard the news? Ron's mother is pregnant. I can't wait. I just adore children. _

_Love, _

_--Hermione_

It always seemed as if Hedwig was the one to hold together his friendship with everyone. As of late, her efforts didn't seem to be worth it anymore. Harry knew that his friendship was very important to Ron and Hermione, but, with his separation from the wizarding world, Harry couldn't help but feel distanced from them. A surge of depressive loneliness swept through Harry and he decided to wait until tomorrow to write back to them. He dressed into his nightclothes, laid down, and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

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**Author's Note: Thank you to all those who reviewed my first chapter. This is the quickest time I've ever updated and it's just for you, my reviewers. Anyway, I realize that Molly's pregnancy is rather…sudden, but I swear it will have some significance later on in the story. I'll try to keep my story from dying, but I can't guarantee that I wil..**


	3. Pick a Card, Any Card

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**Harry Potter and the Eyes of Truth**

_Written by: Maudlin_

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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to J.K. Rowling. I have merely stolen them, locked them in my mind, and am controlling their every move.**

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**Chapter Three**

_Pick a Card, Any Card_

_It's bloody hard sometimes, to wake up and wish to be dead but to end up living out the day just as much alive as the day before. I live just to exist. To the wizarding world, I am always the same hero as I was fourteen-years-ago. I never change. I'm the idol to the young wizards of my world. But I don't just want to be here walking across the earth as an example, a pitiful picture in the Daily Prophet for fan girls to gawk at. I don't just want to be **the boy-who-lived**. I want to be **Harry Potter**, simply that. Honestly, is that too much to ask for? I want to be known as the awkward **Harr**y, the seeker **Harry**, the Auror **Harry**. Not the bloody boy-who-lived! _

_I want a clean slate. I want to start over. I want everything to change for the better. I want my mum and dad alive and here with me. I want Sirius's name to be wiped clean—I want Sirius to be alive. I want Ron and Hermione to still be my mates. I want to be a simple wizard. No pressing matters for me to attend to. No Dark Lord for me to annihilate. I want to be normal. I want to be Harry Potter._

_I want to be Harry Potter…_

_Just Harry Potter…_

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"A little to the left. A little more…that's it! Right there! Set 'er down, Harry," Henry huffed a sturdy command as the two gently set down a long, floral sofa along the wall of the living room. They both straightened up and let out a relieved sigh, rubbing the small of their backs.

Harry had been forced by the Dursleys to be over at the Grants just after nine in the morning. Consequently, no one at the neighbor's house was even awake yet so Harry had quietly lounged around on the veranda. By one o'clock, little Elizabeth had stumbled out the door, still in her nightgown, to retrieve the newspaper. She ended up tripping over a napping Harry, startling him awake, and dragging the groggy boy back inside the house. Harry spent the next forty minutes listening to Elizabeth ramble about the cutest boys she had ever seen in America, on the tele, in England, and the like. He was rescued by Emma who led him to the cardboard box-filled kitchen, giggling like a hyena, and offered him a bowl of cereal, ignoring the fact that they should have probably been eating lunch instead of breakfast food. Henry came along not long after and immediately put Harry to work, lugging boxes and setting up the furniture in the living room.

Henry looked down at the sofa, which they had been fighting with for the last fifteen minutes, and said, thoughtfully, "You know, this has got to be the ugliest sofa that I have ever laid eyes on. If Eliza didn't like the blasted thing so much I would have thrown it out a long time ago." Harry laughed, agreeing. The couch was ugly. The floral print was large and bright, the trim was shabby, and the cushions had little holes that looked like that had been eaten by rabid moths. Nevertheless, it was inviting and the two males were soon sinking into the worn cushions, sighing with ecstasy.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry looked over to Henry and distractedly asked, "Why did you want me to help you? Why not Dudley? I'm the troublemaker, you know."

The older man chuckled and replied, "You don't have to lie to me, son. Your uncle is a prick. You know it. I know it. The whole damn world knows it….excuse my French." He looked, apologetically at Harry, and scratched his fuzzy chin. He continued with a shrug, "When I saw you, I knew that Vernon was forcing you to lie. You are an orphan that he was forced to take into his home, right? That's what I got out of the conversation at least. He doesn't talk much about you…politely anyway. He's a scumbag if you ask me."

Harry stared in sudden admiration. He was growing more attached to this man by the minute—any man who is bold enough to put-down his uncle can't be all that bad. Harry smiled and motioned around the room at the closed boxes, "Is there anything else that I can help you with?"

Henry exhaled, thoughtfully, and scratched his chin, a motion which was apparently a habit of his. "Naw," he finally answered, "I think we've broken our backs enough for one day."

"I guess…I'll be going then," Harry stood up and made to leave.

"What's your hurry son? Do you want to go back to the Dursleys so soon?" Henry quickly said.

Harry turned around and said, "I don't want to intrude."

"Nonsense, Harry! It's no problem at all," Henry chuckled and added in a low whisper, "I'll have you know that living with two girls gets old after a while. I could use some male bonding time and I think you could use a vacation."

A smile stretched across Harry's lips as a sigh of relief escaped from his mouth. Henry obviously caught wind of this action and he let out a hoot of laughter, shaking his head at some joke that Harry couldn't seem to grasp. "What's so funny?" Harry asked, frowning at the laughing fool.

"Nothing, son, nothing at all," Henry smiled. "You just seemed so relieved is all. Did you honestly think I was draggin' you over here just for cheap labor? I guess I'm a better actor than I first thought."

"I don't understand you, sir," Harry bluntly stated and caused another round of laughter from Henry. Harry looked at the older man with a blank stare until a tap on the shoulder made him look behind him. Emma stood behind him, looking up at him with embarrassment in her face and motioned for him to follow. They walked through the house and eventually out onto the back veranda. They could still hear Mr. Grant's laughter from outside.

Emma took a seat in one of the few wicker rocking chairs before explaining, "If you haven't noticed, my old man is a bit weird."

"Yeah, I noticed," Harry sat down as well. "Does he always laugh like that?"

"Mostly. He has this zany sense of humor. He'll laugh at just about anything you say or do. He can be serious though, like yesterday. He was an actor when he was younger—performing in traveling troupes and stuff. But that was before he met my mother. After that he settled down and turned into the crazy nut job he is today," she explained in great length.

Emma Grant was a short girl, about a head shorter than Harry. She was neither skinny nor plump; rather she had an athletic look to her. She has short, wild brown hair, and deep hazel eyes that watched every movement all around her. Her skin was tan, since she probably spent a lot of time outside participating in some sport or another.

She smiled again. Everyone in her family smiled so often, almost unnaturally often. To Harry, it was eerie how cheerful this family of muggles was. All the muggles he had ever been around were pushy and completely full of themselves. The Grants were definitely a change of pace for him.

"I'm sorry about lunch yesterday. I shouldn't have pushed you like I did. You did…catch my drift, though, right?" Emma carefully asked.

He nodded, "I did."

"What a relief!" Emma sighed, putting a hand to her heart, "I was sure you were going to be mad at me for saying all those rude things about you. Eliza had come home and was talking about you constantly and then my father had a talk with Vernon and he got all mad—my dad not Vernon, mind you. Then my father decided that we were going to spend some time with you and Dudley. He just didn't like the way Vernon sounded on the phone. This was probably a little mean, now that I think about it. But thank goodness he doesn't like Dudley. That porker was one foul cockroach." Emma huffed finally, her face scrunched up in a childish pout.

Harry chuckled, "You talk a lot. You and your sister both."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Emma quickly apologized. "I can stop talking as much if you want me to. It's no problem at all. I mean—"

"No. It's all right. I'm just not…used to it. The Dursleys are a quiet bunch," he retorted just as hastily. Emma was quiet. As if she was weary to start talking again. Harry suddenly felt the urge to cheer her up and said, "So your father's an actor, huh? Do you like to perform, too?"

She replied, "I do, but in a different way than my father does." She leaned back in the chair and rocked gently. Harry soon rocked along with her as well. The rocking was soothing, almost hypnotic, not to mention it felt wonderful on his aching bones.

"Then how?" Harry asked again. He was half-annoyed and half-curious. His patience had been cut in half after working the past couple of hours. This was bad news for everyone. An angry Harry meant no good for anybody.

"I perform with magic," Emma smiled, gleefully.

His curiosity was sparked. He stopped rocking and leaned forward in his seat, asking expectantly, "Then, are you a witch?"

Emma's eyes flew open as she replied, "Good heaven's no! I don't do all that black magic, hocus pocus, sorcery stuff. I perform illusions. Some are basic little slight of hand tricks, and others are so complex that no one can see through them. Not even you, Mister Harry." She winked.

He felt a little disappointed at her answer and his eyes turned to his lap. He stared at his hands in a numb manner, growing agitated at himself for feeling so disappointed over something so trivial.

"I guess you don't like magic tricks, then, huh?" Emma said in a quiet voice, her face downcast. She seemed to shrink right before Harry's eyes. Emma turned into a small little girl being reprimanded by an adult.

Harry honestly felt like a fool. Why did he always make people feel so horrible? Why does he always have to hurt everyone around him? It's always Ron and Hermione and everyone else at Hogwarts and now he's hurting his neighbors too. Everywhere he goes, pain is sure to follow. Harry Potter the **destroyer**…

"No," Harry whispered, "I love magic. Erm…I guess my brain is a little foggy after working all day."

Emma frowned, "I see." An uncomfortable blanket of silence fell on them. They both looked away from each other, not making any eye contact. Of course, the silence didn't last long. It was nearly impossible for Emma Grant to keep her mouth closed over a period of time.

"How about a bit of magic to cheer you up, Harry?" Emma asked with a huge smile gracing her face once more.

"Sure. Why not?" He replied, nonchalantly.

She giggled and dug through her pockets before pulling out a small, red and white checkered colored box. From it, she pulled a crisp deck of cards. She fanned them out for Harry to see, happily explaining, "From this ordinary deck of cards I will perform a remarkable feat of magic that is so extraordinary that it'll be sure to knock the socks right off of you!"

Harry couldn't help but to chuckle to himself. The expression on Emma's face was downright priceless. She had the biggest grin on her face and her hazel eyes were so lit up that they rivaled even the brightness of the sun. The mischievous expression reminded him of no other than a couple of twins handing out their newest prank to unexpected first years, knowing fully well what the candy was going to do. They took pride in amusing others and, Harry concluded, so did Emma. Though, her little magic tricks were probably a little less harmful to one's health.

"I need an assistant from the audience," Emma faked a glance around the patio before looking at Harry with a look of genuine surprise, "How about you, kind sir? Step right on up!" Harry laughed and covered his face to cover his laughter. "Don't be shy! Why don't you go on ahead and shuffle these cards, eh?" She hands them to Harry and he quickly shuffles them for her.

Emma clears her throat and heartily explains loudly, "Pick a card, any card! Don't show it to me either! You know how it goes!" After he picks out a card, Emma takes three cards from the bottom, without looking at them, and asks for him to place his mystery card on top of the three. She places them back in the deck and shuffles a few times. Quietly, with a look of hard concentration, she takes the bottom card and places it on a table next to her. Then she took the new bottom card and placed it at the top of the deck and placed the other two cards face down on the table and set the rest of the deck aside.

She picks up the three cards and squares them up and holds them up for Harry to see the bottom card. "Is this your card sir?"

"It isn't, no," Harry frowned.

"No? Well that's quite a bummer," Emma frowned and fanned them out, putting the card down onto the table next to her. Harry sighed, suddenly growing a bit annoyed. He couldn't see where magic was involved in this.

Frowning, Emma lowers the cards into a dealing position and naturally places a card down onto the table. She then shows Harry the last two cards in her hand and they both turn out not to be his.

"Well, sir, what was your card?" Emma asked.

"The three of spades. Honestly, though, this is impossible, Emma." Harry annoyingly said.

"Hold your horses, sir, I'm sure I can cook something up," She uses the last two cards as a spatula and flips over one of the cards on the table.

She shows Harry the bottom card of the remaining, "Lookie here! The three of spades!" Harry gaped at his card in confusion

They spend the rest of the afternoon in this manner with each card trick becoming more and more puzzling to him. At one point, Henry and Elizabeth wandered out onto the patio and joined in on the fun. Around seven or so, they ate dinner and Harry was sent on his way, but not without a ten pound note and a hopeful invitation for the next day.

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_Dear Ron,_

_That's great news! Or I think so anyway. The muggles aren't so bad, Ron. A family of muggles moved in next door and they aren't horrible at all. Not to mention the oldest daughter is definitely easy on the eyes._

_Harry_

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_Dear Hermione,_

_Don't worry about me, Hermione. Hedwig can be a bit pushy at times, but I have a feeling she won't be for much longer. Anyway, Ron said he talked to you about a trip to Diagon Alley for me birthday. I'll speak to the muggles over breakfast tomorrow and send you two an answer._

_Harry_

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**Author's Note: I'm really, really, really, really, really, really sorry for the long wait. I had exams at school, family issues, health issues, and all sorts of stuff that got in the way. I'm on summer vacation and ideas for this story are just pouring in so I'll be updating more frequently now. I'd say…about once or twice a week if I can.**


	4. Paradise of Illusion

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**Harry Potter and the Eyes of Truth**

_Written by: Maudlin_

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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to J.K. Rowling. I have merely stolen them, locked them in my mind, and am controlling their every move.**

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**Chapter Four  
**_Changes_

The morning started just like any other for Harry Potter. Vernon Dursley came knocking on his door, at an hour so ungodly that even the sun wasn't awake yet, and ordered the groggy boy to get his scrawny arse out of the bed and to cook him a grand breakfast. Harry slowly pried himself from his bed, located his glasses, and staggered across his bedroom, muttering to himself just as he did every other morning. Without giving his uncle a glance, Harry made his way to the kitchen, practically falling down the stairs, and started to cook, just as he did every other morning.

Just like every other morning, Harry fixed up a simple breakfast which earned him an earful from his annoyed uncle. Plates of bacon, eggs, toast and jam were set down on the table and, almost immediately, Dudley was situated at one of the chairs and started shoving his mouth full of the greasy food. Petunia arrived a little later with her hair in a flawless bun and her dress suit pressed, just like every other morning. And just like every other morning, Vernon grumbled over articles in the newspaper in between gulps of food.

But, unlike every other morning, Harry was sitting at the table. His plate was empty as he had not prepared one to begin with. He watched his aunt and uncle as if waiting for an opportune moment to spring on them something that would surely have his head if he was not careful of how he went about it. It took them a couple of minutes to notice that Harry was not eating in the kitchen and, though they did their best to ignore him, Vernon and Petunia gradually stopped eating and turned to stare at him.

"What are you doing boy?" Vernon narrowed his eyes and set down his cup.

Harry smiled, "Sitting at the table, sir." Of course, this was no way to get on his uncle's good side, but arrogance was a trait that Harry just couldn't help but portray. Vernon's face drew together in an angered expression and purple seeped across his cheeks.

Petunia straightened up even more in her seat and declared, "We can see that, Harry, but what we want to know is why you are sitting at the table. Vernon and I have told you before that breakfast is a time to be spent with family not street rats."

"That's dinner, ma'am," Harry snickered.

"Why, I never!" Petunia exhaled in an exasperated manner, sticking her beaky nose into the air.

Vernon slammed his palm onto the table and huffed, "Stop arsing around, boy!" Everyone at the table jumped at this. Vernon was never one to be vulgar.

Harry bit his tongue. He was never going to go to Diagon Alley if he kept this up. So he swallowed his pride and said, apologetically, "Sorry, Uncle Vernon. I'm tired, that's all. I got a letter from a friend and they want to spend time with me on my birthday. I was asking if you would let me go with them." Harry said slowly, carefully picking out his words.

"Give me one reason why I should let YOU spend time with those, those FREAKS," Vernon grumbled, his anger boiling.

"I'll, erm, be out of your hair?" His nephew responded quietly and hopefully.

Vernon's eyes opened wide, as if taken by surprise, and he seemed to contemplate this for a moment before grumbling, "Even so, I have no reason to reward you—no reason at all. My taking care of you should be a reward enough. You're lucky I didn't send you to an orphanage like the neighbors insisted. You have Petunia to thank for that. If I were to have had my way, I would never have had to put up with a freak like you. Life would be so much simpler around here."

Harry grinded his jaw, but kept what he really wanted to say to himself and, instead, said, "Please, sir? I promise that I'll be good. You won't even notice I'm here."

His uncle huffed and sat quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. After a couple of minutes, he slowly said, "I suppose. But as long as you don't put a single toe out of line and listen to me at all times. I don't want any of that retorting nonsense that I always have to put up with, you hear me?"

Harry smiled a big toothy grin and replied happily, "Yes, sir! Consider my toes in line, sir!" Vernon rolled his beady little eyes and returned to eating, mumbling to himself, and ignoring the astonished glances from his wife and the disappointed ones from his son. Harry couldn't help but to watch his uncle in gratitude, a thankful smile plaguing his face and never faltering in the least.

"Well," Vernon grumbled, without looking up from his plate, "aren't you supposed to be next door, hard at work?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, jumping up from his seat and running out the door.

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"And he just said yes?" Emma said, astonished.

"Well, there were a couple of buts, but pretty much that's what he said," Harry smiled and they shared a short laugh.

They were standing in the middle of a jungle of boxes. Small boxes, big boxes, fat boxes, and skinny boxes surrounded them on all sides. Truthfully, they were lost in the mass. The room they were in was supposed to be Emma's bedroom, but it didn't really seem like a bedroom at all. There was a bed on one wall and on the other were a desk and a dresser, but the entire floor was covered with boxes.

Harry had his hands inside a box of knickknacks and Emma had her hands in another. Knickknacks, ornaments, curios, and junk were the only things they had found in the last eleven boxes. In one box, they found every single holiday card Emma had ever gotten. In another was a bunch of baby toys that once belonged to her grandmother.

Instead of being annoyed by the ever ending sea of junk, Harry was amused by how many presents Emma was given and how many belongings she had. Harry was lucky if his uncle gave him a smelly, old sock. He had always thought that muggles were all unpleasant people. There seemed to be an oasis in the harsh reality of the non magical world.

Emma picked up a small snow globe and muttered, "I wish my dad was that easy."

Harry sat down the trinket in his hand and looked over at the girl with surprise, saying, "What do you mean? Your dad is the easiest bloke I've ever met."

She shrugged, "He may seem like it, Harry, but he's not. Or, at least to Eliza and me. He's always telling us what to do and keeps us on a short leash. We hardly have a life outside of our family. We don't make friends—we don't even go to school! Dad hired a tutor for us. It's absolutely horrid!"

"He's just trying to protect you," Harry nonchalantly replied, setting a teddy bear in a net hanging from a corner of the ceiling.

"I guess so," Emma pouted, "I just wish he'd lighten up some. I'm almost sixteen. I think I can take care of myself."

"At least he cares about you," he said, standing up and looking at Emma with a serious, straight face, "You're lucky to be able to wake up and have a father and a sister who care about you. Your family will do anything for you. Don't ever take that for granted, Emma. I would do anything to switch places with you."

"Oh, Harry," Emma whispered. Harry shrugged it off and went back to unpacking.

A moment later, a loud scream rang through the house and caused Emma and Harry to both drop what they were holding and run down the stairs and out into the kitchen. They found Eliza standing absolutely still and staring intently at the window. Her eyes were narrow and she was leaning against the counter, stretching her neck out as far as it could go.

Emma ran up and placed a hand on her sister's shoulder and worriedly asked, "What's wrong, Elizabeth?"

It took a moment for Eliza to turn and answer her sister. When she finally did, she grumpily said, "A big rat just flew in front of the window!"

"Rats can't fly, Eliza," Emma grunted. "Stop lying and tell me what you really saw."

Elizabeth whined, "I didn't lie! I swear I saw a flying rat!" She turned back to the window and stared. A white blur passed the window and she exclaimed, "See! There it is again! The flying rat!"

Emma leaned against the counter, too. She observed the white blur flying in circles around the houses and the street. She then slowly said, "Eliza…that isn't a rat."

"Then what is it?" Elizabeth pouted.

The older girl scratched her head and said, "I think it's an owl."

"What would an owl be doing flying around during the day," she doubtfully retorted.

"I don't know," Emma said. She looked back out through the window at the soaring owl.

Shrugging, Elizabeth looks to her sister and casually suggested, "Ask Harry-boo. He's lived around here longer."

"Hey Harry—erm…Harry-boo?" Emma did a double-take of her sister and stared at her with dubious eyes.

"Heheh," Eliza sheepishly laughed.

The two girls looked back towards Harry, or rather, where Harry once stood. Instead there was an empty spot in the kitchen and an open backdoor. The two girls shrugged it off. Emma dragged her sister up the stairs and forced her to unpack her belongings along with her. After much groaning and moaning, Eliza reluctantly decided to oblige.

Unbeknownst to them, Harry was already stumbling through his back door and up the stairs to his room. Hedwig was sitting on his windowsill staring at Harry with aggravated black eyes, fluttering her wings, and shuffling around. Harry walked up to her and squatted at the window and rested his arms on the sill, looking up at Hedwig with a bit of laughter touching his lips.

"What are you doing, Hedwig?" Harry playfully asked. "You can't go flying around in plain sight. You already have the neighbors questioning me."

She clicked her tongue and stuck her leg out, showing off three small parcels.

Harry stared at them in shock before looking back at Hedwig, "You sure have been busy lately, you know that?"

A yell erupted from the downstairs den. It was a yell by his Uncle Vernon who was just returning home from work and was ordering assistance from Harry. Harry frowned and whished that he could have stayed next door for a longer period of time. He looked over, apologetically, at Hedwig, told her to be good, and he left for downstairs.

Thirty minutes and one migraine later, Harry was back in his room lying face down on his bed. He was staring at his trunk, trying to decide whether or not to attempt to finish his homework. He decided to do it another day.

He turned over in his bed to lie on his back and to meditate as he did everyday. Meditation, or his definition of meditation, allowed for Harry to mentally sort out his problems even if he could not in reality. A fictional paradise was always a result of his meditation. No one was suffering, especially himself, and the whole world was at peace. First off, there was never a Dark Lord. Because of this, his parents never died and Sirius Black was never blamed for their deaths. Harry never became the Boy-who-lived and was nothing but a normal wizard growing up in a normal wizarding home. His aunt and uncle were just fine with magic and were often invited over for his mother's phenomenal seven course meals. The Weasleys were higher up in the hierarchy and had more money so no one had to wear hand-me-down clothes or have hand-me-down evil rats. The Malfoys weren't so aggravatingly picky about a wizard's blood. Cedric Diggory was still alive and so Cho Chang was still madly in love with the bloke. Harry's heart was broken, but he would eventually get over it. Remus was, forevermore, Professor Lupin at the school and was loved by everyone because he was not a werewolf. Professor Snape was a mite kinder and gave out less homework over the summer. Professor Dumbledore even began to make a little sense.

But no matter how often and how hard Harry meditated on this peace, it would never come true. His life was to be filled with tragedy and remorse. He would never have his parents and he would never have his godfather. Harry would never be able to live the life he yearned to live.

Slowly, he would drift from his meditation and be back in his room, away from all the laughter and smiling faces. He would be surrounded by the drab wallpaper and the appalling stench of Dudley that he could never seem to wash from his room. It was the same thing everyday. A monotonous cycle that Harry could never break.

At least there were escapes from reality. His little daydreams, his letters from his friends—which he was getting much more frequently due to his owl's determination to make him feel better—and even the little trips next door everyday. These escapes were possibly the only things that kept him alive during the summer. At Hogwarts, Harry had his friends and his studies with him at all time and there was never a great need for an escape because he was always escaping reality. Hogwarts was the biggest escape he had.

Hedwig flapped her wings loudly and Harry shot up in bed because of it. He looked over at the aggravated owl, sheepishly laughing to himself after he noticed the parcels were still attached to Hedwig's leg. He hurried over and untied them while Hedwig hopped over to her cage to drink before she would fly off into the dying sunset.

The first parcel he opened was from Hermione and read:

_Harry,_

_I can not help but worry about you. You are stuck living with those horrible muggles and you expect me not to worry? Honestly, Harry! Anyway, you should give Hedwig a break. She is here everyday and I'm sure she is flying to Ron's house as well. The poor dear is going to kill herself._

Harry looked over at Hedwig whom was utterly oblivious to his questioning look. She didn't look tired, perhaps aggravated, but not tired.

_Can you come to Diagon Alley or not?_

_Love,  
__Hermione_

_P.S. Have you finished your homework yet?_

Harry simpered while unrolling the other parcel which was, obviously, from Ron. It simply read:

_Harry,_

_That's bloody brilliant! I wish I had cute neighbors. Wait, I don't have any neighbors, do I? Can you go or not Harry! Hurry up and send that busy owl of yours._

_Ron_

The third parcel was written in a handwriting he didn't recognize and wasn't even signed. The contents were even more confusing. It was a simple sentence. There was no explanation and no depth to it. It was just one little sentence.

**_Beware the lies they tell._**

Harry frowned and quietly asked Hedwig, "Where did you get this?"

She completely ignored him and merely kept on grooming herself. It wasn't like he was expecting an understandable response anyway.

He put the letter aside without much of a second thought and wrote back identical responses to his friends, simply telling them that he could go to Diagon Alley. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, and climbed sleepily to bed. He said goodnight to Hedwig and then drifted off to a restless sleep.

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**Author's Note: Is that a plot I see? Oh…I think it is! Haha. It's about time, though. **

**"Beware the lies they tell."**

**Not all that spooky…-; Oh well, I tried anyway. Stay tuned for chapter five!**


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